The twelve
A whole week we had
so long anticipated, golden glowing
on all our horizons, and now afterwards
shining like a dream
Hot sun, sea September warmed
the shush and swoosh as shore breakers broke
and curled and pulled away.
We sat in the ten euro shade of our well-positioned parasol
and gossiped endlessly, astonished by thongs laughing
wriggled into swimsuits, braved the sea’s strong undertow
for the loveliness of clear blue green.
Alas for a silent jelly fish, and Michael sudden stung.
Long days begun with a rendez-vous at 8, the early morning dip
daily croissant shop, cycle rides and cliff side walks
of tapas at Blau in the heat of midday ( padron peppers! Chipirones! )
Plus two greyer days of Bridge and indoor games
amongst the group always someone for a chat
two Shirley curries, a Tucker quiz, who knew about ditloids,
brains well-teased, a trophy for Woznicas.
As always memorable meals as the sun went down, fire on the water
no golfers this year to pay our bill!
And yet in spite of Covid unwelcome uninvited
headache, sore throat and endless cough cough coughing
Llafranc 2024, one whole week, stretches out in memory, laughter and thongs
Catalonia and tapas, the blessed company of friends, the twelve
so long anticipated.
Blessings counted, blissful, this year’s magic on the Med.
October 2nd 2024 Hounoux, for dear friends
